


ghostless is the air

by slackeuse



Category: MXM (Band), Produce 101 (TV), Wanna One (Band)
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, Jihoon can see ghosts, M/M, angst but there's a happy ending i promise, comfort/hurt?, ex-boyfriends meeting again, ghost!woojin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-28
Updated: 2017-12-28
Packaged: 2019-02-17 12:37:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13077027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slackeuse/pseuds/slackeuse
Summary: Park Jihoon has been able to see ghosts his entire life, but he’s never had one follow him around like his ex-boyfriend slash enemy-for-life Park Woojin does.





	ghostless is the air

**Author's Note:**

  * For [daybr3aks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/daybr3aks/gifts).



> hey alex i heard you like killing daehwi lol this one's for you!!!!  
> i know i reinterpreted your prompt, but i hope it's still somewhat enjoyable (if not a little painful whoops)

you have sadness  
living in places  
sadness shouldn’t live  
- _rupi kaur_

 

 

 

Jihoon knows there’s a ghost in the house, but he’s developed enough techniques over the years to ignore it. When he was young, he used to mistake ghosts for people and he’d try to talk to them, make friends with them. Ghosts don’t make great friends, though, because the only reason they still walk the earth is because they refuse to let go of something, of someone, of somewhere. They’re too attached. They don’t have the capacity to care about anything outside of that attachment.

Which means the ghost in the house is probably attached to the house or something in the house—a piece of furniture, maybe—or maybe someone in the house. Jihoon has three roommates, so there’s a good shot it could be one of them. Youngmin, Donghyun, and Daehwi (believe it or not) all have a pretty long list of exes who could still be thirsty, could still be vindictive, or could still be infatuated. He’d know who if he was around more often, but he spends most of his waking hours on campus, either in lecture or in the library.

The ghost is watching Youngmin play a video game when Jihoon gets home near midnight. The first thing Jihoon does is remind himself they don’t have a fifth roommate and Youngmin wouldn’t bother inviting a friend over just to watch him play a video game. Then he reminds himself that he has to make sure the ghost doesn’t notice that he can see it.

“Jihoon?” Youngmin calls over his shoulder, unwilling to actually pry his eyes away from the screen long enough to check to see if it’s him or not. “Did you have a good day?”

“I had a day,” Jihoon answers, kicking off his shoes and replacing them with slippers. He hangs up his jacket in the closet and then moves to the kitchen. He pulls out some frozen food, reads the instructions. “Are you heading to bed soon?”

“Yeah, soon. You?”

“I’m going to eat something really quick.” He pokes holes in the plastic seal and then puts it in the microwave, sets the time for five minutes. “You need anything, hyung?”

“Can you grab me a beer?”

Predictable. Jihoon grabs a can from the fridge, opens it, takes a long swig, then sets it on the coffee table for him. He’s careful to keep his eyes trained on Youngmin and not the ghost sitting next to him. “Should I get you anything else?”

“ _Jihoon?_ ” It’s the ghost—Jihoon has to remember that when he hears the faintly thin quality to the gravelly tone. As if it’s not really there. As if it’s both a whisper right in his ear and a shout from across the Pacific Ocean. “What the actual fuck.”

“No, I’m good.” Youngmin gives him a smile. He picks up the can and takes a gulp. He even sighs afterwards. “Thanks. Even though you took a sip.”

“You knew I would when you asked, hyung. And I’m helping you out. We’re both intimate with your alcohol tolerance level.”

“True and true.”

As the microwave turns off, Jihoon makes his way back to the kitchen. He stands behind Youngmin for as long as it takes him to satiate his hunger. He throws away the plastic tray and puts his spoon in the dish washer. He makes his way to the stairs, saying, “I’m heading to bed now, hyung. You should head up soon, too.”

“Yeah, yeah. But, hey.” Youngmin pauses his game and gestures him over.

Without thinking about it, Jihoon stands next to the armrest—stands beside the ghost. “What’s up?”

“Are you really doing okay?” Youngmin asks. “I know it’s been a few since he died, but I still worry about you. I know you two were close once. Or at least that’s what he told me.”

The ghost stands. “Park Jihoon, are you the reason I can’t leave this house?” His voice sounds familiar, sends Jihoon’s stomach into knots.

“Once, yeah.” Jihoon swallows hard. “But that was like freshman year, and I’m graduating from grad school at the end of this semester. It was a long ass time ago. I don’t know what he told you, but we didn’t exactly end on friendly terms. There’s nothing for me to mourn. I lost nothing.”

“The fuck does that mean,” the ghost asks, and if he’d known that he could touch Jihoon, he probably would’ve grabbed the front of his sweatshirt.

“It means exactly what I said,” Jihoon answers without thinking, and his chest tightens around his lungs, around his heart, so it feels like the space in his ribcage is too small for his pounding heart and his breathless lungs to exist together. He knows he shouldn’t—he knows he couldn’t possibly make a bigger mistake than this—but he glances at the ghost, meets Woojin’s hard glare with his own, if only for a moment before he throws a smile at Youngmin. “He was a fucking dick. In a way, I guess he got what he deserved.”

“What?” There’s a look of deep hurt on Youngmin’s face. His eyes are tearing. “Don’t say that. No one deserves to die. He said you two were friends and you grew apart, that’s all. I don’t know what he did that made you think he was a dick. Woojin was one of the nicest guys I knew. And don’t forget, I knew him longer than you did.”

That was true. Jihoon had met Woojin in high school, but Youngmin had been on a dance team with Woojin since he’d been in middle school. It still didn’t mean anything, though.

“How well did you really know him, hyung?” Jihoon wants to wipe that expression off Youngmin’s face, but even still, even with the truth burning his throat, he can’t do it. “Friends. Yeah, we were. I guess growing apart is one way to describe it. Maybe I shouldn’t have said he deserved it, but if you knew—if you knew, I think you’d understand.”

Youngmin reaches over, through Woojin, and puts a hand on Jihoon’s. “I don’t know what it is he did, but I know him. Knew him. Why don’t you tell me what happened? He probably didn’t mean it.”

“If he didn’t, then you’d know what he did.” Jihoon slides his hand from under Youngmin’s. “He took that with him to his grave, so I’ll let him have it. That’s the least I can do. Goodnight, hyung.”

Jihoon heads up the stairs, and he fucking hopes that Woojin stays with Youngmin, but as soon as he closes the door to his room, there’s Woojin, arms crossed over his chest.

“I didn’t know we had a fifth roommate,” Jihoon says. He sounds a lot calmer than he feels. “I should talk about getting my part reduced.”

Woojin scoffs. “Like that’d get you far. Hey, Woojin’s ghost is squatting in our house, can we start charging him rent so we can all pay a little less. Sounds sane as fuck.”

“What the fuck are you doing here, Woojin?”

“If I knew, do you think I’d still be here?”

“Fuck.” Jihoon releases a long breath, runs his fingers through his hair, then decides he needs to not care. Talking to ghosts is never a good idea. Especially when they’re your ex-boyfriend. “ _Fuck_.”

“Why’re  _you_  saying fuck?” Woojin asks. He’s moving closer to Jihoon, but then he hesitates because, Jihoon guesses, he’s afraid of accidentally touching Jihoon and being confronted with the fact that he’s not alive. “I’m the one who’s been stuck in this house for months without realizing why, watching Youngmin hyung and Donghyun hyung and Daehwi do dick around the house. Where have you even been? How did I not know you lived here when I’m here all the time?”

Jihoon opens his dresser drawers and pulls out some sweats and a t-shirt for bed. “ _I’m_ saying fuck because I should’ve ignored you, and that’s what I’m going to do now. I don’t have time for you. Go back to watching Youngmin hyung, Donghyun hyung, and Daehwi.” He leaves his room for the bathroom, shutting both doors behind him.

He hopes that Woojin won’t follow him, but there, in the mirror behind him, Woojin is watching him brush his teeth. “Why am I stuck here? Why—of all people—can you hear me and see me? Are you the reason I’m still here?”

The answers are easy—Woojin is attached to something or someone in this house, Jihoon has always been able to see ghosts, and the only person who knows why Woojin is still here is Woojin himself. Instead, he takes off his clothes and makes sure he doesn’t catch Woojin staring.

“Really?” Woojin asks.

He pretends Woojin isn’t even there, though. He steps into the shower, even sings a little when Woojin tries to talk to him over the sound of the water, then dries off even though he can feel Woojin’s gaze on him.

“You’re really fucking ignoring me right now,” Woojin says. “Is this something you can just fucking turn off?”

Jihoon gives him a look as he starts pulling on his pajamas. Of course, he shouldn’t have done that.

“Apparently not.” Woojin grins. “So as long as I’m stuck in this house with you, I can make your life living hell until you answer my questions. Good to know. You might as well answer my questions. It’ll make me shut up quicker.”

“God, were you always this annoying or is this something you acquired after death?” Jihoon picks up his shit and heads to his room.

Woojin is, of course, waiting for him when he enters. “Answer my questions. Maybe we should go one by one? The first one is why am I stuck here. Why am I stuck here, Jihoon?”

“You’ve been dead how long and you don’t fucking know by now? I can’t help you, then.” Jihoon climbs into bed after putting his clothes in his laundry basket, then he pulls out a pair of earplugs from his bedside table. “Youngmin hyung snores,” he provides. “It’s nothing personal, my one and only Chamsae. Goodnight.”

The old nickname makes Woojin pause long enough that Jihoon has time to pop in the plugs and curl onto his side in bed. He always has a hard time getting to sleep because running through his head are about a million assignments and projects he needs to finish in the next weeks before graduation, and tonight isn’t any different. It has nothing to do with Woojin. Absolutely nothing.

 

 

When he wakes up, he’s hoping that Woojin has decided to bother one of the other residents in the house, but Woojin is sitting on the floor a few steps away from his bed, cross legged and back as straight as a rod. He watches Jihoon sit up and stretch with a glare, speaking the language of anger even without opening his mouth. He’d always had a particular talent for that.

As soon as Jihoon takes out the earplugs, Woojin is back at it. He’s louder, though, which makes him that more annoying. “Are you fucking kidding me? Youngmin hyung doesn’t fucking snore _that_ loud. You did that because you knew I’d keep you awake all night. Because guess what? Ghosts don’t sleep. I can’t fucking believe you. I just want some answers. Is it that hard to give them to me?”

No, of course not. But when Jihoon would’ve liked a straight answer from Woojin back when they were freshman, he hadn’t been able to give one, either. So Jihoon continues ignoring him.

“Don’t fuck with me, Park Jihoon,” Woojin growls while Jihoon starts getting dressed. “What the fuck is wrong with you? I get that you hate me, if your conversation with Youngmin hyung last night was any fucking indication, but I’m dead. I’m dead now. Can’t you help me?”

It’s not just about helping him, though. There’s a lot more to Woojin being a ghost, to him being the ghost haunting this house, to him being the ghost Jihoon has been avoiding for two years. He’s caught glimpses, seen edges. He’d heard his deep voice and the satoori soaked into his words. It’s about when Jihoon needed Woojin the most, he wasn’t there. Woojin ignored him for three years, right up until the day of his accident.

“Even if you’re not going to answer my questions,” Woojin says, “you could just talk to me. I haven’t talked to anyone since I died, Jihoon.”

Jihoon’s next breath doesn’t fill his lungs the way it should, but he finishes packing up his bag.  “Maybe you should’ve talked to me more when you were alive. Maybe I’d be happy to answer your questions, then? Maybe I’d even be happy to see you? Or maybe you wouldn’t be here at all? Have fun at here all alone all day. It seems fitting for you.”

Then he leaves his room, hurries down the stairs, and leaves the house and Woojin behind. He has never enjoyed the thirty-minute walk to campus, but after five minutes without having to worry about Woojin’s ghost or reminding himself to ignore him, he fucking loves the thirty-minute walk. He thinks about all the work he has left to do so he can graduate without freaking out about what he’s going to do afterwards when he’s not in school anymore. He thinks about whether he’ll time to grab food or not, how much caffeine he can consume on an empty stomach without getting jitters, how long he’ll have to stay the library tonight.

That is, until Woojin pops up at his side when he’s half-way to campus. His footsteps fall into synch with Jihoon’s. “I thought I’d try following you,” Woojin says, hands in his pockets.

Jihoon glances up at the grey sky to ignore the blurred bottom edge of his sight. He’s too tired for this, too stressed out for this. He grabs his earphones and plugs them into his phone. He should’ve been wearing them from the start.

“Because,” Woojin says, leaning close to his ear and nearly shouting even though Jihoon hasn’t started playing any music yet, “if  _you_ are the reason I’m still here, then that means  _you_ are what I’m haunting, right? Here I was worried it was Youngmin hyung, Donghyun hyung, Daehwi, or that stupid house. But look. Here I am. Next to you. Not anywhere near any of them. So seems I’m right. It’s you who I’m haunting.”

If he keeps talking, Jihoon has no idea. He makes sure to drown out whatever it is Woojin might be saying with Big Bang. Woojin isn’t normally talkative, but a part of Jihoon does understand—he’s been alone this whole time with no one to talk to, anchored to the place Jihoon lived without knowing instead it was Jihoon to whom he was bound. Of course, he wants to talk, even if it’s with Jihoon.

But isn’t that the problem? He’s only talking to Jihoon because he’s literally the only person he can talk to. It took death to get Woojin to talk to Jihoon.

And he does talk. A lot. All through Jihoon’s first two lectures, making remarks about  _wow so you chose to study Korean literature, my god this is boring though, I’m dead and I’m still yawning, are you going to be a teacher after this, I can’t imagine you being a teacher, what’re your students going to do with a teacher like you, are you not going to answer any of their questions either_.

He doesn’t talk, though, when he sits in the back of the class where Jihoon is the teacher’s assistant. He just watches, but even still, it’s impossible not to notice that Woojin is there, that Woojin’s eyes are on him, that Woojin has an expression he can’t read when he used to be able to read all of them.

After class ends, he chats with the professor for a few, then leaves to grab some food. As long as the line isn’t too long, he figures he has time before his last lecture of the day. Woojin is, of course, following at his side as if he belongs there.

“So you weren’t so bad at the teacher thing,” he says. “You answered  _their_ questions just fine.”

Jihoon closes his eyes for an extra long second, then pulls out his earphones again. Even if the walk is only about five minutes, he’d rather listen to Russian metal than Woojin right now. He goes to cross the street, but then he hears a car horn and he realizes he didn’t look before he stepped into the road. He’s jerked backward by a firm grip on his elbow.

“Jihoon—for fuck’s sake.” Woojin grabs his other arm, too, and then gives him a rough shake. “What the fuck are you doing? Why aren’t you paying attention to where you’re walking? You didn’t even look! You could’ve—you could’ve died.” A breath falls out of him. “Jihoon, you could’ve died right in front of me.”

Jihoon rips himself out of Woojin’s grasp, even though it must look insane to anyone who might be watching him right now. “Why the fuck do you even care?” He looks before he crosses the street this time.

“Of course, I care,” Woojin says, following him. “I care about you. Obviously! Or I wouldn’t be here right now, would I? Aren’t I stuck like this because I—” He stops suddenly, and Jihoon can’t help but glance over at him. Woojin's eyes are wide, and he’s looking at his hands. He turns them over, studies his knuckles, flips them back over to study the life lines that surely mark his death at age twenty-two.

“I—” Woojin looks at Jihoon, then he reaches out a hand slowly until he’s caressing Jihoon’s cheek with the back of his fingers. His touch is soft because he’s a ghost, because he’s not part of this world like Jihoon. He whispers, “I can touch you.”

Jihoon slaps his hand away. Suddenly everything feels like it’s too much. The sky is too gray. The air is too dry. His jacket is too warm. His backpack is too heavy. His shoes are too big. His lungs are too small. His heart is beating too fast. He turns away from Woojin and heads inside the café. There isn’t a line, so he walks right up the counter and orders an Americano and a pesto chicken sandwich to go.

Then he goes to the bathroom, and although Woojin is leaning against the far wall, he doesn’t try to crowd into a stall with him. So he hides, watching the clock on his phone count the minutes while he tells himself to just let it go, quickly, let all of it pass right through him, let it rush over him, let it out so that the weight in his chest will ease just a little.

He flushes the toilet when he’s done, then goes to the sink to wash his hands. He doesn’t look at Woojin. He tries not to register that Woojin follows him out, that he trails him to the counter where he picks up his sandwich and his coffee, that he’s right at his side as he heads to his last class of the day.

Woojin says nothing.

 

 

Jihoon begins staying even later at the library. It used to be his refuge away from the house and the ghost he didn’t want to meet at all costs, but now it’s a place to go where Woojin doesn’t try to bother him.

“So this is where you were,” Woojin had said two weeks ago when he followed Jihoon inside the old building for the first time after his last class. “You don’t have another class?”

He finds out, without Jihoon answering of course, that Jihoon doesn’t have another class. He has three on Tuesday and Thursday and acts as the teacher’s assistant between his second and third class, then spends the rest of the afternoon and evening pouring over books, taking notes, and revising his thesis.

“You sure work hard,” Woojin tells him. “It’s Friday. Shouldn’t you be partying with Youngmin hyung, Donghyun hyung, and Daehwi? I’ve watched them get ready and pre-game a fucking thousand times by now. And they always come home late and seem like they had fun. But you—”

Jihoon just adjusts his glasses a little, continues working. He’s almost perfected his method of ignoring Woojin now. Almost. It’s hard, though, when Woojin packs his backpack for him and lays out an outfit for him to wear before he’s woken up. It’s hard when this morning, Woojin pulled out his earplugs to wake him up because he’d already overslept his first two alarms. It’s impossible to ignore a ghost once they’ve decided to intervene in your life, which is why Jihoon was supposed to pretend like he couldn’t see them, couldn’t talk to them, couldn’t make them feel like they were still human and still here.

Woojin isn’t human. He’s not really here.

“I never noticed you coming home on Friday nights,” Woojin restarts. “Don’t tell me you don’t come home on Friday nights.”

“I do,” Jihoon answers and immediately regrets it. “I do go home, but usually everyone’s asleep by then.”

“Fucking hell.” Woojin sits on the desk next to Jihoon. “Why’re you working so hard? This is ridiculous. You didn’t use to study this hard.”

“It’s important for me to do well,” Jihoon says.

“You are,” Woojin says. “You are doing well, aren’t you?”

“Who knows. Now leave me alone.”

“We’ve been through this. If I leave you alone, I’ll never figure out why I’m haunting you. Then you really won’t ever get rid of me, will you?”

Jihoon puts his earphones in.

“Yeah, fuck you, too,” Woojin says.

He’d stopped turning music on a few days ago, so he hears that crystal clear.

 

 

Woojin wakes Jihoon up the following Wednesday morning by taking out his earplugs and slowly easing him into a seated position. Jihoon feels like he’d just gotten to sleep, and exhaustion is heavy in his limbs. He doesn’t realize that Woojin is dressing him until he’s already in all black.

They’re Woojin’s old clothes.

“What the fuck.” Jihoon pries the sweatshirt off. He almost can’t get it off fast enough. Then he notices his hands are shaking so he picks up the sweatshirt and heads to the bathroom. “Do not follow me.”

There must’ve been something in his tone because Woojin doesn’t. Not at first. Jihoon isn't sure how long he's in there before there are arms wrapped around him. They can only be Woojin's. Somehow, Woojin still smells like Woojin, being within his embrace still makes Jihoon feel like maybe he's stronger than he really is. Jihoon wants to relax into him. He wants to forget what Woojin did. He wants to forget that Woojin is dead.

“I brought you another outfit,” Woojin says into Jihoon's hair. "I'm sorry."

“Fucking meaningless,” Jihoon says, though there's little bite in his voice. “Your apologies are always late.”

Woojin takes in a breath, but he doesn't say anything. He gives Jihoon a squeeze, then he leaves. 

Jihoon arrives at the library an hour later than he normally does, and his usual spot is taken. So he finds a different private corner where he can ignore a ghost and stays an hour later than normal.

 

 

“Aren’t you cold?” Woojin asks Friday morning on the way to campus. Then he fits his fingers between Jihoon’s. “Your hands are cold.”

Jihoon glances at their hands. He expects, for a moment, for Woojin’s warmth to seep into his palm like it did five years ago, four years ago, but it doesn’t because he’s dead now and he wasn’t then. He doesn’t pull his hand away, though. “It’s freezing out. Of course, they’re cold.”

After a few minutes, Woojin lets out a rough chuckle. “It doesn’t feel the same, does it.”

“No. It can’t.”

Woojin chuckles more, but there’s no joy in it. It cuts like rain in the wind. He wishes he had someplace to hide, but there’s nowhere to go. He’s not surprised that Woojin notices, runs his free hand along Jihoon’s wet cheeks. Jihoon seems to be crumbling now more than ever.

“I wish,” Woojin says, gravel in his voice, “I would’ve held your hand more. Is that why I’m still here?”

“Fuck if I know. I already told you. You’re the only one who can answer that.”

 

 

On Sunday, Woojin doesn’t wake him up. His alarm does. After he turns it off, Jihoon finds Woojin standing in front of the calendar he has pinned above the desk he never uses. His heart drops into his stomach.

Woojin points to it, looking over his shoulder at Jihoon. “Why do you have the anniversary of the day I died on here?”

So that was why Youngmin wanted to check in with him. He pulls up his calendar on his phone, and he has to force himself to breathe. He starts getting out of bed and goes to his closet.

“Well?” Woojin asks.

“It’s for show,” Jihoon says.

“For show?” Woojin’s lip curls. “The fuck?”

“That’s what I said. It’s in case Youngmin hyung, Donghyun hyung, or Daehwi come into my room and glance at my calendar.” From the back of his closet, he pulls out a garment bag.

“That’s fucked up,” Woojin says. His gaze follows Jihoon as he heads for the door. “You know what? I don’t believe you. I think you’re lying.”

“Oh, I’m the liar? That’s funny.” Jihoon rubs his temples and then leaves his room, Woojin following him, to find Daehwi. As expected, he’s ironing his suit in the laundry room, and his eyes brighten when he sees Jihoon.

“You want me to iron that for you, don’t you, hyung?” He takes the bag from Jihoon without waiting for an answer. “I can do it while you shower.”

“Yeah, that’d be great.” He gives Daehwi a hug. “Thanks.”

Daehwi just gives him a big smile. “You just owe me one, hyung. It’s nice to see you, though. Today’s a sad day, but.” He shrugs, passing the iron over the edge of a pant leg to create a clean crease. “But I’m glad I’ll get to spend time with you. It’s been a long time. Sometimes I forget that you even live here, hyung. Jinyoung is here more often than you.”

“I know, I know.” Jihoon squeezes his shoulder. “We’ve got the whole day to catch up. And I only have about a week left until I’m all done with grad school. Then you’re going to see me too much because I won’t have a job.”

“Are we going to have the old Jihoon hyung back, too? I miss him.” Daehwi lifts an inquisitive brow.

Jihoon chuckles. It sounds foreign to his ears. “I haven’t changed that much. I’m just busy. Tell Donghyun hyung I’ll take a quick shower?”

“Got it.”

Jihoon takes the steps back upstairs by twos. Woojin doesn’t follow him, but it doesn’t matter because Jihoon is sure he knows what Woojin would be saying anyway.  _Wasn’t that just another lie? It’s a lie that you can’t tell me why you can see me and hear me and why I can touch you, too, isn’t it? Why’re you lying, Park Jihoon?_

He turns on the water a little hotter than normal and he wishes it was enough. Youngmin helps him blow dry his hair, then they all eat breakfast together. Woojin sits on the kitchen counter. He watches, doesn’t say anything at all. Then they all get dressed, meet downstairs, and leave together.

The train to Busan feels quick when Donghyun is cracking jokes and Youngmin is catching him up on his video game adventures and Daehwi is asking him a million questions about grad school because he’s not sure yet if he wants to go, too. Woojin sits across from them, observing and, for the first time, minding his own business except for that look in his eyes that says,  _I know where you’re going._

They stop at a flower shop first. While Youngmin hyung, Donghyun hyung, and Daehwi debate over what flowers they want in their arrangements, Jihoon just asks the florist to make something pretty that doesn’t cost more than 20 000 ₩. When they each have a bouquet, they order a taxi. They’re driven into the northern countryside and dropped off in front of a white building. They walk in, pass through to a second building, and then step outside to hills blanketed in gravestones. Youngmin leads the way through the maze. Since he’d known Woojin the longest, he goes first while the others hang back.

At first, Woojin seems like he’s going to stay with Donghyun, Daehwi, and Jihoon, but then he swears and makes his way over to his grave. Jihoon studies his form standing beside Youngmin’s. He hadn’t realized how much more Woojin had grown since their freshman year.

Donghyun puts an arm around Jihoon’s shoulder. “You okay?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Jihoon says. He shows Donghyun a smile. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be, hyung?”

Donghyun just shakes his head, pulls him a little closer. “Alright. Just checking.”

When Youngmin is done, he returns. Everyone looks at Jihoon, but he gestures for Donghyun to go first. Youngmin replaces Donghyun’s arm around Jihoon with his own.

“I thought it’d be easier this year,” Youngmin says. His eyes are glistening, but he’s not crying. “Maybe it won’t ever be easier.”

After Donghyun, Jihoon tries to persuade Daehwi to go next, but he knew it was a losing battle when he started it. So he climbs up the hill to Woojin’s grave. Woojin hasn’t looked away from his grave since he went to stand next to Youngmin.

“Is this your first time here?” Jihoon asks. He wishes he didn’t sound so angry, but he always feels this rage swell in his chest when he’s brought back to this day.

“Is it yours?” Woojin counters. When Jihoon doesn’t answer, he rakes his fingers through his hair and signs. “Yes. I didn’t know I had a grave. Of course, I have one. Why wouldn’t I? I just never thought to try to find it, I guess.”

“That doesn’t surprise me,” Jihoon says. “After all, you seem to forget all the time that you’re dead.”

Woojin scoffs. “Trust me, I haven’t forgotten once. Have you ever yelled into people’s faces for hours hoping that just maybe they’ll realize you’re right in front of them? Have you ever spent days trying to pick up a bottle of rum because it’d be fucking great if you could get drunk and forget about the world for a second? I don’t know why you sound so fucking mad when I’m the one who’s dead.”

“I am angry.” He feels it, too, burning the back of his tongue. “I’m really fucking angry. You broke my heart and then you fucking died, Woojin.” He sets his bouquet of flowers next to Donghyun’s, stuffs his hands into his suit pockets, and returns to the group.

Daehwi goes next, and although Woojin remains by his grave, he’s turned away from it so he can study Jihoon instead. Jihoon wishes he was the one who was invisible. He wants to run away from Woojin’s gaze. He wants to hide somewhere until he can convince himself to stand straighter, convince himself that the world isn’t trying to devour him.

When Daehwi is done, they all head back through the cemetery to the main buildings. Jihoon can’t wait to get out of this stupid suit and to bury himself in his work again, but he hears someone call his name that sounds familiar.

“Park Jihoon, it is you!” It’s Woojin’s roommate Jaechul from freshman year and the group of friends they’d made that year, Doojin, Youngtae, and Kyounghwan. “Hey, guys.”

Everyone greets each other. Although they’d stopped talking to Jihoon, that hadn’t stopped them from making friends with Woojin’s other friends. Jihoon would rather be anywhere than here right now, but there’s no way to get out of talking to them when they’re blocking the exit. So he puts on a smile and hopes his forced pleasantries will get them on their way quickly.

“You know,” Jaechul says, “I’m actually a little surprised you’re here? You didn’t turn up for the funeral service. I’ve been worried. I’m glad to see you seem to be doing fine.”

Jihoon’s ready to tell him that yeah, he’s doing fine so that they can move along, but Youngmin is quicker.

“Jihoon was at the private service,” he says, pulling Jihoon just a bit closer to his side with the arm he has wrapped around his shoulder, “with Woojin’s family and closest friends. I was there, too, with Daehwi, Sihoon, Donghyun, Myunghoon, and Kyungheon.”

Woojin is frowning. “You what?”

“Oh,” Jaechul says. “That make sense. You two were pretty close, huh. We thought you two were dating for a while.” He chuckles.

“Jihoon,” Woojin says, stepping in front of him. “Just tell them.”

Tell them what? That they had been dating, but Woojin hadn’t been ready yet to be open about it? When he hadn’t ever been ready because Jihoon is still the only one who knows what they had been?

“We  _were_  close, weren't we?” is all Jihoon says.

“Jihoon,” Woojin says again.

“What happened between you two?” Doojin asks. Concern creases his forehead, but Jihoon doesn’t believe it. “It was like you just stopped being friends one day, and then the night he died—I still don’t get it. We told him you were there and that we could all hang out together for old time’s sake, but then he just fucking left. And then he got into that accident.”

Voice louder, Woojin says, “That’s not true.”

Jaechul squeezes Doojin’s shoulder. “We wouldn’t have told him you were there if we knew he didn’t want to see you that badly.”

“That’s not why I fucking left.” Woojin puts a hand on either side of Jihoon’s jaw and raises his head just enough so that their gazes meet. For this moment, his eyes are only meant to see Woojin’s, he’s only meant to feel his touch, he’s only meant to hear his voice. “I left because I didn’t think  _you_ would want to see me. No—No, I’m—That’s only part of it. The other thing was that I knew when I saw you I’d want to talk to you, I’d want to… to go back to how we were. Because that’s what I wanted every time I saw you. For three years. For three years, all I wanted was you. But I fucked up. I fucked up, Jihoon. I didn’t deserve to have you back after what I did. That’s why I left.”

He wishes that he couldn’t see ghosts. He wishes that Woojin wasn’t haunting him.

“That’s—” he starts responding to Jaechul but finds he can’t finish.

“That sounds like you want to blame Jihoon?” Donghyun says. “Did he tell you he was leaving because he didn’t want to see Jihoon?” When they don’t respond, he says, “No? Alright then.”

“It was such a pleasure seeing all of you again,” Youngmin says. His hand is on Jihoon’s back now. “Maybe we’ll catch you next year.”

Youngmin almost physically pushes them out of their way as they leave. No one says anything in the taxi back to the station. No one says anything on the train ride to Seoul for a while. Not even Woojin, who only looks at Jihoon the entire time.

“Jihoon,” Youngmin says from beside him. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, but what happened between you two after freshman year? I promise this’ll be the last time I ask. I just want to help. We just want to help.”

“We do,” Daehwi says.

Donghyun gives a soft smile. “We know you’re still hurting.”

“And maybe talking about it will help?” Youngmin adds.

“We—” The words get trapped in his throat. He can’t say it.

“It’s okay,” Woojin says beside him. He puts a hand on Jihoon’s. “You can tell them. I regret not telling everyone that I was dating you. I should’ve told everyone I knew about us.”

Jihoon swallows. “I was in love with him, and when I needed him to be there for me, he wasn’t. Jaechul, Doojin, Youngtae, and Kyounghwan thought we were too close, and so they asked if we were into each other. I told them I was bisexual, and they asked if I’d ever had sex with a guy. When I said I had, they decided they didn’t need me as a friend anymore. I was fine with it. I had other friends. But Woojin stopped talking to me, too.”

Jihoon had needed the support of his boyfriend, even if Woojin hadn’t been ready to answer their question. Instead, Woojin had done nothing. He’d ignored Jihoon’s texts and voicemails, avoided him on campus, tried not to be at the same parties. Although they’d never properly broken up, they started dating other people. And that had been that. Over after a year.

Jihoon expects any one of them to offer some words of encouragement. Something about how Woojin must not have meant it, must not have realized what he’d done. They don’t, though, and so the rest of the train ride is spent in silence with Jihoon’s head resting over Youngmin’s heart, his hand rubbing his arm slowly, rhythmically. It’s the only thing that keeps Jihoon from breaking.

When they get home, they’re all loosening their ties and sliding their suit jackets off their shoulders and going to their separate rooms. Woojin is waiting for Jihoon in his. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even move as Jihoon leans back into his door. They stand there just looking at each other for a long time.

Jihoon doesn’t know when the tears start. He just feels a tickle running down his cheeks. He wipes, feels the slickness. His first thought is if it’s blood, if he cut himself somewhere, but when he pulls his fingers away, it’s not red.  _Tears_ , he realizes. They’re tears. He tries to wipe them away as quickly as they bead at his lower lashes, but his eyes are burning and each tear is replaced by one, two, three more.  _Stop_ , he begs. He doesn’t want to cry. He doesn’t want to do this right now. He didn’t want to then, either. He doesn’t want to do it ever.

Because to cry is to acknowledge it’s true—it’s true he’s gone, never coming back.

He grits his teeth against the tightness in his chest, the way his hot breath hurts past his throat. He covers his whole face with his hands, wipes all the tears away, ignores the way his heart is stuttering and his lip is quivering. But then he feels Woojin’s hands on his wrists, a gentle grip that pulls Jihoon’s away from his face. Then he releases them, cradles Jihoon’s head in his palms, and tips his head back so all Jihoon can see the blur of fresh tears. He stares up to the ceiling again, wills them to stop, please, please, please.

Woojin’s arms wrap around him, and it’s that Woojin is both hugging him and that he’s not—that his arms are strong but his embrace is fragile, like a strong wind enveloping him, nesting around him with a touch that’s too soft to actually move him—that breaks him. It’s only within Woojin’s hold that he can’t pretend to be anything but in pieces. He’s not sobbing, but his soul is screaming from within the hole Woojin’s death left within his heart. His breath is hot, and it hurts to breathe. Although he tries to control them, tries not to make a sound so no one else in the house hears, suspects, worries, tears just keep running down his cheeks.

“It hurts,” he whispers, closing his eyes and bowing his head.

“I’m sorry,” Woojin whispers back. He pulls Jihoon in even closer, but it only feels more like he could just pass right through his body. “It’s my fault. I was scared of how much I loved you. I’m still scared. I love you so much that I couldn’t even leave this world.”

His words sent Jihoon to the ground. “How can you say that now? It’s too late.”

“But I’m here now, aren’t I?” Woojin drops to his knees and takes Jihoon into his arms again. “I’m here because I didn’t get to love you the way I should’ve. It’s not too late. It’s not.”

“You’re cruel,” Jihoon says.

“Yell at me then.” Woojin maneuvers Jihoon into his arms and then stands, carries Jihoon to the bed and sets him down. He takes off his clothes. “You’re not yelling very loud.”

“I have nothing to yell about.”

“Do you want to hit me, then?” He finds a clean pair of pajamas and changes Jihoon into them.

“It wouldn’t feel very satisfying knowing that it won’t leave a bruise.”

Woojin chuckles. “Do you want me to apologize to you all night?”

“I’d just put my earplugs in.”

“Then what do you want?” Woojin finishes dressing him and starts pulling the covers over him.

Jihoon catches his wrist. Several minutes pass between them until Jihoon lets himself say, “Hold me.”

So Woojin climbs into bed beside him. Although the mattress doesn’t dip with his weight, there is a body next to him, pulling him close. There’s breath on the back of his neck, hands spanning across Jihoon’s stomach.

“I’m haunting you because I love you, Park Jihoon. I’m sorry I didn’t have your courage when they asked if we were dating. I’m sorry I didn’t follow you when you left that day. I’m sorry I wasn’t by your side our sophomore year, our junior year, our senior year. I’m sorry I didn’t love you the way you deserved to be loved. But I’m here now and I love you more than I ever have. I love you so much it hurts.”

Jihoon takes a big breath. “Me too,” he says, and then he’s crying again.

 

 

Woojin chooses to wake Jihoon up with kisses on Monday morning, and although Jihoon shoves him away, he doesn’t tell him not to do it again. As always, there’s an outfit waiting for him and Woojin has packed his backpack.

“I tried to make you a sandwich, too,” Woojin says as he follows Jihoon to the bathroom, “but it seems like I can’t touch most of the shit in your kitchen.”

“I’m assuming you can’t touch anything I haven’t.”

Woojin pauses at the doorway of the bathroom, so Jihoon closes the door on his face. When he turns to brush his teeth, Woojin is behind him still. “Are you going to start answering my questions now?  _Babe_.”

“Do not  _babe_ me.”

“Damn, I thought maybe you’d let it slide since I’m dead.”

“You’re so fucking stupid.” Jihoon puts his toothbrush in his mouth and gets to work on his teeth.

“So you’re saying you haven’t touched most of the food in this house? Fucking hell. I really shouldn’t be surprised now that I know your schedule, but seriously how have you been living for the past two years. You’re making me mad.”

Jihoon spits out his toothpaste. “Yes, that’s what I’m saying. If I had to guess, you can probably touch the things I’ve touched within a certain time period. Maybe a month? I’ve never been haunted, so I’m not really sure.” Jihoon goes back to his teeth.

Woojin sits on the toilet. “That makes sense. So what about you seeing me? If everyone can see the ghosts that haunt them, wouldn’t that be a big fucking deal that we’d learn about in school? Am I special? Are we special? Is it love?”

Jihoon finishes brushing his teeth, rinses his mouth, replaces his toothbrush. “It runs in my family. My mom can see ghosts, too, and before her, it was my grandma. I’ve always been able to see ghosts. I'm the only special one here. I am the Superior Park after all.”

“You never told me about it.”

“What’s there to tell?” Jihoon starts getting undressed. “I ignore them for the most part. I made friends with one when I was a kid, but everyone just thought I had an imaginary friend and made fun of me. I was bullied for a while. I had to transfer schools.”

There is a long pause. Jihoon starts the water for the shower and waits for it to warm up.

Right before Jihoon gets in, Woojin asks, “Did you know I was here all along?”

“I knew there was a ghost, but I didn’t know it was you until I saw you.”

At that, Woojin smiles. “Should I join you in there?” He starts taking off his shirt.

“Fuck no.”

“Love you, too.”

Woojin chuckles, and Jihoon feels a smile stretch across his own face all by itself for the first time since Woojin’s death.

 

 

On Friday, Jihoon defends his thesis and although no one else can hear Woojin clapping from the back, it’s the only applause that Jihoon hears. On their way back home that night, Woojin entwines their fingers. He kisses Jihoon’s temple. “You can tell Youngmin hyung and Donghyun hyung and Daehwi. You can tell them the whole story, if you want. I think they should know.”

“If you wanted them to know, you should’ve told them yourself. I’m not going to tell them for you. I can’t do it.”

“But wouldn’t it be easier for you?” Woojin asks.

Jihoon gives his hand a squeeze. “This is fine. The way it is now is fine.”

Woojin presses a kiss to his lips. Maybe it’s because Jihoon knows that even if someone were around that they wouldn’t be able to see Woojin, he doesn’t mind that they’re kissing in public. He doesn’t mind that they continue when they get back home. He doesn’t mind the mix of weight and weightlessness of Woojin’s tongue, his grasp, his body.

He doesn’t mind being in love with Park Woojin.

 

On Sunday night, Woojin climbs into bed beside Jihoon, rolls over, and chews on his lip like he has something to say. “Hey,” he says as if they hadn’t spent the entire day together.

When Jihoon just raises his eyebrows for him to continue, Woojin clears his throat. “I want to visit my parents,” he says. “I want to know how they’re doing. And Yerim. I want to know how they’ve dealt with it. I need to know if they’re okay.”

“Next weekend?” Jihoon asks because this is his exams week and there’s no way he can go out to Busan right now.

“Tomorrow,” Woojin says. “I just feel like I can. I’d just take the train and peek in on them and then take the train back. Since I’m a ghost, I don’t have to pay or anything. I’ll be back before you. It’ll be like I was never gone.”

So he wants to go alone.

Jihoon licks his lips. Swallows. “If you feel like you can, then yeah, sure. Who am I to say no? I guess it’d make sense.” He studies the ceiling. “Maybe ghosts can accumulate some sort of time they can spend away from whatever they’re haunting? You’ve been sticking close as fuck to me for a while now, so it’d make sense that maybe you can spend some time away from me, too.”

Woojin rests a hand on Jihoon’s jaw, then gently turns his head so that he can kiss him on the lips. Then they’re deepening it, their bodies meeting together as Woojin moves on top of him, straddles his waist. He presses kisses down his neck as his fingers find the space between his ribs.

“Thank you,” he says against Jihoon’s Adam’s apple. Then he says it again against the dip between his collarbones. And again against his sternum. Lower and lower, he repeats those two words against his skin.

 

 

The next morning, Woojin has Jihoon set up for a long day studying at the library. There’s even a cup of coffee waiting for him—Jihoon had made sure to touch both the cup and the coffee pot and the bag of coffee grounds a few days ago. They leave together, and Woojin walks him all the way to campus before kissing him goodbye and heading for the train station.

Jihoon goes to the library alone for the first time in weeks. His usual study spot is quiet without Woojin. At lunchtime, he packs up to grab something to eat because he heard Woojin in the back of his mind reminding him that food is important. He makes sure to look both ways at the crosswalk, both on his way to the café and on his way back to the library.

Getting set up in the library the second time is a lot harder. He doesn’t want to be here. Not without Woojin. He keeps glancing over to where Woojin usually sits, expecting to find him lost in thought or watching people out of the window. Suddenly studying becomes a test in how long he can go without looking for Woojin. Since when had Woojin become the only part of his day that he enjoyed? Since when had Woojin become the only part of his day that he cared about?

He makes himself stay until he’d normally leave, even though he studied a lot less than he would normally. He packs up. The walk back home is quick because all he can think about is finding Woojin waiting for him in his room. Or maybe he’ll meet him at the door and he’ll sneak in a welcome home kiss.

Except Woojin doesn’t greet him when he steps inside. Youngmin and Donghyun wave at him from the couch, ask how studying went, and he lies. Instead of eating dinner like he normally would, he heads upstairs.

He expects Woojin to be waiting for him with his nose in a book, laying on his bed. He’s not. He’s not in his room at all.

 

 

Woojin isn’t back in the morning. There isn’t an outfit waiting for him. His bag isn’t packed. Jihoon realizes how much he hates walking to campus alone, how much he hates getting lunch alone, how much he hates the library. He tells himself that there’s no way Woojin won’t return by tonight. There’s no way he can spend that much time away from Jihoon—his attachment to Jihoon is the only thing that’s keeping him in this world. The longer he goes without seeing Jihoon, the weaker that attachment will be, right?

He studies hard, makes up for Monday’s lack of productivity. He busies himself on his walk back home with exactly how he’s going to tell Woojin how much it sucked to have him gone for so long without inflating his ego too much.

He doesn’t have to worry about it, though, because Woojin isn’t there.

 

 

Walking alone to campus again the next morning, he calls his mom because there’s no one else he can ask. He plans to pretend it’s a normal call—ask her how she’s doing, tell her how his defense went, update her on the status of his studying, make plans to go home to see her once he officially graduates. But as soon as he hears her voice, his eyes water. He takes too long to answer her.

“What’s wrong, my winkgingie?” she asks.

 _Fuck_.

He tries to chuckle. “Nothing, nothing. It’s just been a long time since I heard your voice.” He wipes away a stupid tear rolling down his cheek because Woojin isn’t there to do it for him. He chews on his bottom lip.

“You’ll be done soon and come visit me, right?” She laughs, sweetly. Then, as if she knew exactly how Jihoon had planned this call, she continues, “How was your defense? How’s studying? When can you come home?”

So he tells her all his stock answers. The defense went well, studying is happening, and he can come home as long as he passes all his tests and graduates on time. Which he will because, Woojin or no Woojin, he did not work this hard for two years to watch it all disappear in front of him.

“I can’t wait to see you,” she says. “Are you going to wait until you visit to tell me why you really called me or are you going to get it out now?”

“I was just—I just had a question. A thought, really.” He doesn’t want to make her worry, which is the only reason he waited this long to even call her. She’s the only person he can ask, though, and he needs to know. “Do you remember that ghost I met when I was fourteen?”

“Of course. He was such a sweet boy. What about him?”

“Do you think he could’ve ever left?” he asks. “If a ghost haunts someone or something for long enough, can they leave?”

“That boy wasn’t going to leave, but I did meet a ghost once who was far away from the person she was haunting. She was haunting her daughter—had been for twenty years. She watched her daughter grow up, get married, and have a child. Every year, though, she’d go back to her hometown to visit the grave of her parents and pay her respects. She said that sometimes she’d go check on her husband as well, who’d gotten remarried after her accident, just to make sure he was living well. But that boy—he will probably never leave.”

“How long?” Jihoon asks. “How long do you think they can stay away from who or what they’re haunting?”

“I’d guess a few hours, maybe a day or two.” While Jihoon is trying to process this information, she asks, “Honey, is there something I should know?”

He takes a big breath. “No, no. Nothing like that. Sometimes I just think about him, and then I just wonder what it’s like for other ghosts. What kind of freedom do they have? Can they ever truly go on to the next life if they’re completely tied to just one thing, one person? Because sometimes what you need to move on is distance, different experiences, different people, different spaces. Sometimes it just takes one change—something small—and your whole world suddenly snaps into color.”

He makes the mistake of glancing over at the emptiness Woojin used to fill at his side. Suddenly that emptiness looks so big, so consuming. His hands start to shake as his chest tightens like a fist around his lungs, around his heart.

“You’re so kind,” his mom says, voice soft. “I wish I could answer your questions, but all I can tell you is that, in my experience, the ghosts who move on are the ones who _want_ to move on. There’s nothing you can do to help them. They must help themselves.”

The same could be said about humans. The same could be said about himself.

“Thanks, Mom,” he says. He wishes his voice hadn’t cracked. “I love you.”

“I love you, too. I’ll see you soon, my son.”

They hang up. Jihoon goes to his first exam and when he walks out, he knows he’s passed. He grabs food, coffee. He goes to the library. He studies. He stays so late that when he gets back home, everyone is asleep. He isn’t surprised, this time, that Woojin isn’t waiting for him in his room.

 

 

On Thursday, Jihoon tries to reason that if Woojin is gone, it must mean he’s passed. And isn’t that a good thing? That maybe he felt Jihoon’s love enough that he was able to break his ties with this world, to finally rest in peace. It’s just that Jihoon had wanted to be greedy. He’d wanted to be selfish. He’d wanted Woojin for longer.

 

 

Jihoon celebrates taking (and passing, he’s sure) his last exams Friday afternoon with his roommates and their extended friend group. They start at the house, throwing back a few shots before climbing into a taxi and meeting up with everyone else at their favorite bar. He drinks too much, but it’s what everyone wanted him to do and he’d really like to stop thinking about Woojin.

He does not stop thinking about Woojin.

He’s only drunk enough to talk about him when they arrive back home. They pile onto the couch, Youngmin in the middle with Donghyun leaning against one of his sides and Jihoon tucked under his arm on the other. Daehwi snuggles up to Jihoon’s side and rests his head on his shoulder.

“Woojin’s gone,” he says.

“He’s been gone for two years, hyung,” Daehwi says, and Jihoon should’ve expected it.

“I was really, really in love with him,” Jihoon says. “I _am_. Still.”

Youngmin sighs next to him, gives him a one-armed squeeze. “He’s probably up in heaven still in love with you, too. He told me. That he was in love with you. I wasn’t going to tell you because I thought it’d just be cruel. It’s still cruel. I shouldn’t have said—”

“It’s okay.” Jihoon rests his head against Youngmin’s chest. It’s not like this is new information. Woojin had told him when they were dating that he was in love with him. Woojin told him that he loves him just last week, too. But there’s something about knowing that Woojin had told someone else that carries an extra gravity, that warms his heart, that makes him feel alright even if just for a few moments.

He remembers Woojin telling him to _just tell them_. He hadn’t all this time because it felt like Woojin’s secret, but maybe the reason he hadn’t told anyone was because it was also partially his own secret. Maybe it was because if people knew about their real relationship, people would see Jihoon for what he really has been these past two years. They’d see just how broken he is.

“It was a bit like this, actually,” Donghyun says. “We were all piled up on Youngmin hyung’s bed after drinking all night. I think he was a junior? I mean it wasn’t like we hadn’t already figured out by then he wasn’t straight, but he said it out of nowhere like he was admitting he’d murdered someone. He was so serious. It was so cute.” He chuckles.

So they knew. They knew Woojin was gay. Was that why they’d been so quiet after he told them part of what happened between him and Woojin on the train?

“Then he said he’d missed his chance with you, hyung.” Daehwi sets his chin on Jihoon’s shoulder. “I didn’t really get it back then because as far as I could tell, you two were painfully obvious about how much you liked each other. But I think I get it now. You two dated your freshman year, didn’t you?”

He can’t say it at first although he knows they already know the answer. It’s as if admitting it aloud gives his answer more weight. It’s as if his answer will make what they had even more real, will make what’s happening right now even more painful. He’s tired, though, of running away.

“Yeah,” he whispers. “We were happy.”

“He was scared,” Youngmin says. “I don’t think he meant to hurt you. I hope you know that.”

“I do. I do now.”

They sit in the silence that follows, pressed together on a couch made for only three. No one moves to head upstairs to their bedroom. Instead, they fall asleep together, and Jihoon feels just a little less lonely but maybe just a little more greedy.

 

 

Jihoon has a fucking hangover but he doesn’t care. While the others are sleeping, he takes a shower and eats breakfast. Daehwi manages to open an eye when he’s putting his shoes on at the door and wave. He catches a train to Busan and spends the entire ride trying to come up with a way to re-introduce himself to Woojin’s family. By the time he’s standing in front of the mansion Woojin called his childhood home, he’s only come up with one.

He’s pretty sure it’s Woojin’s mom who answers the door, if he remembers right. She has his eyes, and she’s wearing a pink apron that has sparrows on it. “Hello?”

He bows. “Hello. I’m really sorry for the sudden visit. I’m Park Jihoon. I am—was—one of Woojin’s best friends his freshman year of college. I don’t know if you’d remember me, but—”

“Of course, I’d remember you.” She wraps him in a tight embrace. “You were only my son’s favorite person. Come in. Have you had lunch? Let me make you something.”

He can’t tell her that he only wanted to stop by really quick to see if maybe Woojin was still there, so he lets her lead him inside. He puts on slippers, chats with her as she fixes him a quick lunch, and listens to her stories about Woojin’s precious childhood years as he eats. She guides him upstairs to Woojin’s room once he’s done.

“I can tell you came here for answers,” she says, her hand on the handle. “I hope you find some. I’ll be downstairs when you’re ready. And you’re welcome to stay for dinner as well or spend the night if you don’t need to head back to Seoul tonight.”

When she smiles, he sees a bit of Woojin, and he covers his wince with a smile of his own. “Thank you. Really.”

She opens the door and gestures him inside. The first thing he notices is that Woojin is not there, but at this point, it was what he was expecting. He had to try though, right? As soon as Woojin’s mom closes the door behind him, Jihoon walks to Woojin’s bed, lays down, and buries his head into his pillow. The smell of fabric softener envelops him—of the fabric softener all of Woojin’s clothes smelled like unless he wore cologne or he’d just came from the gym.

He stays like that for a long time, until he’s sure Woojin’s mom is wondering what’s taking him so long. He sits up, then, and studies the room that Woojin lived in until college. A chair is tucked under his desk. There’s a years old calendar hung at eye-level. The month is January rather than December, and Daehwi’s birthday is circled and starred and marked with stickers. He has the first day of classes outlined in red.

Beside the calendar, there’s a collage of pictures from his childhood. There’s Youngmin and Donghyun and Daehwi. There are a few people he doesn’t exactly recognize but probably saw at his funeral. He has a pictures of his family—his mom, his dad, his grandparents, his little sister Yerim. Then he blinks.

He has a picture of Jihoon.

He stands and walks over to the collage. It’s from orientation. It was the first day they met. They’d hit it off immediately. They were best friends within two weeks. They tiptoed around being more than that for a month before they’d just looked at each other and knew they could have something more than friendship. Woojin had told him that he wasn’t sure if he was gay or if it was just Jihoon. He’d been honest. He’d been upfront. And Jihoon had been okay with that. He’d still wanted to date him, even if it was in secret.

At what point had that changed? Why hadn’t he just told Woojin that he hadn’t wanted their relationship to be secret anymore?

How stupid.

Jihoon goes to leave, but there’s one last picture that catches his attention. It’s on Woojin’s nightstand table. A picture of them kissing. He has to cover his eyes because he’s afraid he might just stand there and stare at it for hours even through the blur of his tears. It makes sense, now, why he’d been invited to the private funeral service. Why Woojin’s mom so quickly recognized him. Why his childhood friends would’ve known all along they’d been dating. Why they’d supported him quietly through it all.

He’d planned on heading back to Seoul, but instead, he untucks the covers to Woojin’s bed, slides out of the slippers, and climbs in. He stays on his side so that he can face the picture of them that Woojin must’ve fallen asleep looking at every time he visited home. And he does the same.

 

 

He awakes to the soft knocking of Woojin’s mom in the morning, followed by, “Breakfast is ready, dear, if you’d like some.”

Although it’s awkward eating with Woojin’s dad and Yerim, it’s only because it’s painfully obvious that Woojin is missing. Jihoon wasn’t supposed to meet Woojin’s family and have breakfast with them for the first time without him. But they’re nice. More than nice. Woojin’s mom even sends him on the train with a sandwich.

“Visit anytime you want,” she says, giving him a hug goodbye.

He only has the words to thank her.

The train ride back to Seoul feels like it takes an eternity. Although he’s not hungry, he eats the sandwich she made for him. He tries not to cry because it tastes good, tastes like home, tastes like love.

When he gets home, Youngmin, Donghyun, and Daehwi are all watching a movie together, sharing popcorn. Woojin is sitting on the floor beside the couch, studying him from over his shoulder.

“Fuck, where were you?” he asks, standing. “I was worried.”

“Hey,” Youngmin greets him. “I was almost going to get worried. Glad you’re back. Did you go home?”

Jihoon is glad he has years’ worth of experience ignoring ghosts. “S-something like that,” he says. “I’m going to just go change. Leave some popcorn for me?”

“Popcorn is always first come first serve,” Donghyun says. “Be quick if you want some or suffer the consequences.”

Daehwi gets up, rolling his eyes. “I’ll just make another bag. We all know how much Jihoon hyung likes popcorn. Do we really want to hear him complain that he didn’t get any through the rest of the movie? No.”

While Youngmin and Donghyun chuckle at him, Jihoon takes the stairs by two. He closes the door behind him and faces Woojin.

“Hey,” he says, smiling.

“Where the fuck have you been?” Jihoon shoves him, but he’s weak to that smile, weak because Woojin is still here, weak because he loves him.

Woojin finds Jihoon’s hand. “I went home. I told you? I wasn’t planning on staying that long, but it was a lot harder leaving than I thought. What did you think happened?”

“You’re so stupid. You were gone for a week. An entire fucking week. I thought you’d—I was scared you’d left and I couldn’t even look for you because of my final exams. I went up there last night to see if you were there. Nice picture on your bedside table, by the way.”

He flushes. “T-thanks? I guess? I thought it was a cute one? Did you stay—”

“At your house? Yes. I thought you were gone, Woojin. I thought you were gone.”

Woojin leans in and presses kisses all over Jihoon’s face, even as he starts crying. “Holy shit. I didn’t think—I thought you knew how this whole haunting thing works? But I’m not going anywhere. Not until I’ve loved you like I should’ve, and it will take a hundred life times to love you how you deserve. So I’ll wait for you so we can be together forever. We can grow old together just like this. How does that sound?”

“Are you asking me to marry a ghost? A ghost who I thought just fucking abandoned me?”

“Yeah, I guess I am. Do you want to touch a few rings at some fancy jewelry shop so I can propose to you properly later?”

“That’s called stealing.”

“Not like I can pay for it. And let’s be honest, a ring is the only way I can keep people from flirting with you so much. You’re mine.”

“Am I?” Jihoon asks.

Woojin kisses him, their lips meeting gently, their mouths openly slowly, their tongues brushing against each other tenderly. Woojin has never felt more solid than when they’re kissing, when he’s nibbling on Jihoon’s lips or sucking his tongue or saying against his mouth, “Aren’t you?”

“I am,” Jihoon answers against his. “As long as you’re mine, too.”

“Forever.”

“I hate you, Park Woojin.”

“And I love you, Park Jihoon.”

 

 

 

∞

**Author's Note:**

> this was really hard to write because it followed so really hard news for all of us, but i think writing it really helped me, too. icb woojin is an adult now and i made him a damn ghost LOL
> 
> also! feel free to follow me on [twitter](http://twitter.com/slackeuse) or bug me on [cc](http://curiouscat.me/slackeuse)!


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